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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23696845">Every Separation is a Link</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdingtorches/pseuds/holdingtorches'>holdingtorches</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>British Actor RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Embarassing First Meeting, F/M, Neighbours, Romance, Slow burn... ish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:14:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23696845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdingtorches/pseuds/holdingtorches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>You and George live on opposite sides of the same wall. You wanted to be a part of his life, but how could you?<br/>The title is a quote from Simone Weil's Gravity and Grace.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George MacKay/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Separation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2020/feb/29/george-mackay-actor-1917-true-history-of-kelly-gang-exhausting">this</a> interview that George had with the Guardian.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> “Is he single at the moment? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ‘I can’t say.’” </em>
</p><p>As you read the words on the screen, you felt your heart drop to the floor. What did he mean when he said that he “can’t say”? Did he have someone else already? The wall separating your flats was thin, thin enough for you to hear the sounds that comprised his life: in the mornings, he’d sing as he cooked his breakfast, filling the silence of your flat; in the early evenings, his soft footfall set a soft, steady beat as he paced around the floor, memorising his lines; and sometimes, late in the nights 一when the London nights were uncharacteristically quiet and he had come home from a long project一 his soft, content snoring somehow calmed you. </p><p>Surely, you would have heard if something of <em> that </em> nature was happening, and yet even then, you couldn’t be sure enough to dispel the looming sense of dread that balled up your solar plexus, the one fear you knew you couldn’t shake away: that the one man you’ve wanted for so long is with somebody else.</p><p>You pursed your lips apprehensively and breathed in deep as your mobile’s screen dimmed, the interview from The Guardian dissipating into a dark mirror. For the briefest of moments, you saw how shattered you looked. You shook your head in an attempt to banish the thoughts, remembering that you had to go to work soon.</p><p>Rising out of the warm huddle that was your bed, you couldn’t help but think of George. How could you not? Those expressive eyes, that imposing height, the warm smile he’d still give you when you bumped into each other in the first floor or when you’d happen to take the same elevator together, even despite the circumstances surrounding the first time you met一</p><p>As you turned the shower’s faucet on, you shuddered, not sure if it was because of the cold water of the shower running down your back or that evidently cringe-worthy first meeting with George.</p><p>
  <em> It was around five years ago, and you had just moved into the building. To christen the new flat, you threw a party complete with loud, rambunctious friends and as much liquor as you can transfer into your bodies. Sometime during the middle of the party, George had knocked on your door. Your friend Dani answered the door first, but you stumbled drunkenly towards the door anyway, in an attempt to answer it as well. Before you could stop yourself, the first thing you said when you saw George was “OoOooH! You’re cute!” </em>
</p><p>A shudder brought you back to the present, and this time, you knew it wasn’t the water. As you tried to recall the incident five years ago, that was all you remembered, to be honest. However, Dani was sober enough to remember things that happened that night, and she filled in your memory of the night you first met. She recalled you making a pass at “some guy by the door”. For the sheer hell of tormenting you, she never really told you how exactly you were “making a pass”. Whatever it was that you did, she said that it was beyond what was morally acceptable for a first meeting; nevertheless, she says, George was very courteous about it. Even if he was too polite for his own good to not push away a woman who had clearly way too many shots of tequila before making depraved advances at him, you knew, deep down inside, that you can never look at George without feeling a sense of utter shame.</p><p>Of course, you only found out about who George was and what he did for a living only a week after the incident. You opened the door after a series of crazed knocks at one in the morning, only to find Dani staring at you with wide eyes. Netflix really wasn’t much of a thing then; what she had in her hands was a DVD. Dani let herself in and thrust the DVD in your hands. You squinted through the sleep still in your eyes to read the title of the film better. ‘Sunshine on Leith….’ you thought to yourself. The man lifting the woman on the cover looked familiar, and yet you couldn’t quite place where you saw him before.</p><p>While you were preoccupied with the cover of the DVD, Dani went into the kitchen. You heard the opening of a bag and soft <em> beep</em>s of the microwave buttons. As the microwave started to hum, she walked over to your telly in the living room and turned it on. She opened the DVD player and motioned to you, asking for the DVD. You rushed to give it to her and sat down on the couch, not really sure what to expect.</p><p>“This… seems like a rom-com,” you finally said as Dani emerged from the kitchen with a bowl of microwave popcorn in hand.</p><p>“It <em> is </em> a rom-com,” she replied through a mouthful of popcorn.</p><p>You took some popcorn and looked at her suspiciously. “You’re not one for rom-coms….”</p><p>She shushed you, probably to avoid the topic and most likely because the film was about to start. A rendition of “Sky Takes the Soul” by the Proclaimers started to play, and once again you squinted; one of the actors singing looked <em> so familiar </em>, and not in an “I-saw-this-actor-in-a-lot-of-films” way, but more in a “somehow-somewhere-I-feel-as-though-I’ve-had-a-close-encounter-with-this-guy” kind of way.</p><p>You gasped just as the truck that the soldiers were riding on was bombed, not because of the explosion but because of a realisation that hit you with such a tremendous force that the wind was knocked out of your lungs. </p><p>That tall man on the screen —the one now singing and dancing in an enragingly cute way to ‘I’m on My Way” by The Proclaimers— was the same one you drunkenly approached a week ago. </p><p>Dani smirked as she saw your epiphany moment, and you slapped her arm.</p><p>“It’s <em>him!</em> It’s <em> him! </em>” you exclaimed, forgetting all your words at that moment except for the fact that the it was, well, him.</p><p>“His name is George MacKay,” Dani added. “Now you have a name to fuel your daydreams.”</p><p>You glared at her for a moment, before returning your gaze to the screen. The next hour or so was spent completely transfixed on George. Subconsciously, you leant forward until you were hunched over yourself, your elbows rested on your knees. When the ending credits finally rolled, you leaned back into the couch, only then realising how closely you tried to watch the film.</p><p>“Well?” Dani asked, setting the now empty bowl on the coffee table in front of you.</p><p>“I… really like him,” you replied, deep in thought as it dawned on you that you were starting to maybe even <em> fall in love </em> with the guy. Of course, this “really like” feeling evolved into you backtracking his filmography and seeing everything he was in after. Be it a horror film, a period piece, stage productions in the West End, you lapped up everything that had him in it. Hell, you even ended up watching and rewatching all the interviews and press junkets that you could on YouTube. You suspected it was <em> that </em> which got you in deep; you began to adore his outlook on life and the causes he’d fight for, admire the way he held himself, and cherish how he immersed himself in his work with so much dedication and honesty. </p><p>Soon, you began to see more and less of him at the same time: as he began to appear in more and more films and series and plays that demanded that he be elsewhere in the globe, you started to see less of him in your London-locked life.</p><p>As you checked yourself before heading out the door, you wondered if you were going to see him today. Obviously, you still bumped into him from time to time because he was still your neighbour. The moments you shared with him were few and far between, but you remembered every single one and every single detail within them. Sometimes, he’d hold the elevator open for you and press the button for your floor before turning to you and giving you a dazzling smile; when your hands were full of groceries, he’d even offer to help you bring them. Embarrassed beyond belief, you always declined. You would feel your face burning up as you mumbled you quick ‘thank you’s and ‘but thank you though’s, your mind still burdened with the secondhand memory of that shameful night.</p><p>But God, how you wish you didn’t feel so awkward around him. Every time you looked at him, you just wanted to talk to him about anything and everything. Of course, fear would always trip you before you even dared to try and you’d never get the chance to actually say anything substantial aside from trite and minute conversations you’d have.</p><p>The sound of your door closing shut snapped you out of your reverie. Staring longingly at his door, you wondered how you were able to fall in love with him through a wall. But then again, wasn’t every separation a link? The door that stood between you, you knew, was also the only way through to him. The way you ‘communicated’ with him —the shuffling of feet on floorboards, the melodies that played early in the evening, the sounds of lives that continued to thrive despite one never knowing the other well enough— was only possible because of the closed door and because of the wall between you. To you, having that separation from him was better than having nothing at all.</p><p>You sighed; this ‘love’ —or whatever it was— was beginning to get more aggressive as the days went past; you knew you wanted to be part of his life, but you didn’t know quite how to fit yourself into it. </p><p>So, you fit him into yours. Your life may have been restricted to the monotonous and boring pace of home, to the firm, to some chores, and back again, but somehow you felt that even if the routine was dull, he’d still fill everything with a sense of wonder. You believed that he could be that one person who could pull at the corners of the life’s mundanities and unravel them to reveal all the hidden magic that was there to see. Even the most tedious of domestic tasks suddenly saw the possibility of becoming full of tenderness and joy, all thanks to the daydreams you’d have of him.</p><p>The vivid, rapturous daydreams you had of a life with George only had, however, the unwelcome effect of highlighting the monochromatic monotony of your own life without him. It wasn’t so much that your life wasn’t complete without him and yet… sometimes it did feel that way. You wanted to open your world up, definitely, but more importantly, open up your world <em> to him. </em>All you wanted was to see all that can be seen through his eyes and build a reality with him and the unwavering care that would and could exist between the both of you….</p><p>You took a deep breath before the <em> saudade </em> had a chance to settle in and ruin the rest of your day.  Stepping out onto the sidewalk, you felt a light drizzle gently hit your cheek as the grey concrete started to become speckled with slightly darker tones of grey. You smiled a sad smile, thankful that you brought an umbrella with you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Link</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning: This chapter contains a small spoiler for Ophelia!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The MET Office was definitely wrong about the predictions they made for that day. What they initially claimed to be a light shower escalated into a full-on yellow warning storm with winds that blew at over seventy miles per hour, and the rain was expected to make landfall in the afternoon. Luckily, you were done with the pleadings and draft contracts that had to be finished for that day, and you got home just as the rain started to really pour. </p><p>The rain may have been coming down in sheets, but you were curled up nice and warm on your sofa, rewatching <em> Ophelia </em> for the nth time as you snacked on sea salt and cracked black pepper crisps. You had gotten to the part where George —you meant Hamlet— whispered “<em>Confess to me, the keeper of your soul. Do you have another?</em>”</p><p>You swooned at the scene. What a thing it was, to have George MacKay (and again you meant Hamlet played by George MacKay, but at that point your brain didn’t care to correct itself anymore) say that to you, with his gaze piercing into your soul through the lattice of a confessional. You paused the scene just after he said ‘<em>I want to marry you,’ </em> and squealed into a throw pillow, before laying back and staring at the ceiling in a daze. You floated in a headspace that dwelled on how his pupils were blown so wide his blue eyes were almost black, and a shiver ran through your spine as your imagination concocted a fleeting vision of him staring at you that way—</p><p>The sharp sound of knocking cut through your reverie. You threw off the blanket over your legs and rose indignantly to answer it. Who would knock at this hour? And in this weather? The only person crazy enough to do that was Dani, and she was currently on holiday with her parents in Rome. </p><p>As the warming image of Rome and its soft, sunny skies played in your mind, you trudged towards the door.  Sighing, you opened the door, only to have what you saw cause your eyes to widen with shock.</p><p>Standing in front of you was George, looking absolutely drenched. You assessed the state of him as quickly as you could, looking at him from head to toe. Even his canvas trainers were soaked. Was he in the rain? How long was he in it? You noticed he was shivering, and immediately invited him into your flat. </p><p>As he entered, he spoke your name, and your head snapped up to look at his face. He called you by your name —your preferred nickname— and you wondered how he knew. Did you ever tell him your name? How could he have known? He opened his eyes and looked at you, smiling wide as he did. </p><p>“Thank you for taking me in,” he said.</p><p>You whispered a soft “You’re welcome,” in return. He stood there for a while, revelling in how warm your flat was compared to the corridor he was in. As he closed his eyes to savour the heat, you noticed how his white shirt clung to his lean body, revealing the muscle definition on his arms and the contours of his abdomen that led to—</p><p>You realised, as you caught yourself gazing intently at the vision before you, that <em> Ophelia </em> was still paused in your living room, still frozen on that scene that launched you into a trance. ‘<em>Shit!’</em> you cursed to yourself. How were you supposed to get out of this now? ‘<em>Oh hi George don’t mind me I’m just worshipping your thirst trap of a Hamlet!’ </em>was not a statement that would help you, and you wondered if maybe you can sneak off to close the telly before dashing to find a dry towel for the man. Yes, that idea could work, you just needed to be graceful about it.</p><p>Before you could even begin to execute your plan, however, the power went out, plunging the room into complete darkness. It took a while for your eyes to adjust to the pitch black dark, and even then you fumbled as you looked for the torch that you kept by the entrance. </p><p>The bright light of the torch illuminated the space between you. “Stay here while I get you a towel and some dry clothes,” you told him before you took the torch with you and walked to your bedroom. ‘<em>Guess</em> <em>that problem took care of itself,</em>’ you thought to yourself as you passed the television. Soon, you found yourself rummaging through your wardrobe in an effort to find dry clothes that would fit him. Eventually, you returned to him with a big towel, an oversized (to you, at least) hoodie, and some pyjama bottoms that were too long for you.</p><p>“You can change in the bathroom, if you want,” you said as you handed him the things in your arms. He whispered a soft “Thank you,’ before walking towards the corridor.</p><p>“First door to the right!” you called out to him. You saw him nod his head before turning the knob and opening the door to the bathroom. Alone again, in the dark, you took small, cautious steps as you slowly approached the coffee table in front of the sofa. Finding your mobile on the coffee table, you turned on the flashlight app and took out the scented candles that Dani had jokingly gifted you during your last birthday. You shook your head and chuckled lightly as the memory of how she explained her gift to you, saying “<em>If you ever have the balls to bring George into your flat, this will set the mood </em>.”</p><p>You laughed at the thought of setting a mood. Truth be told, it was the perfect time to try and do so: the power was out, the rain was beating down heavily outside, and you were in a state after seeing George all wet-looking with his shirt sticking to his lean torso. But the thought of him having another lingered in the shadows of your mind, and you stopped yourself from going any further with that small daydream.</p><p>George returned to the sight of warm candlelight and the scent of bergamot and white musk, with both stimuli coming from the Dani’s gift, its orange flames now dancing in the darkness. You sat on one end of the sofa, your mobile in your hand.</p><p>“I hope you don’t mind,” he said as he went out of the hall. “I hung my wet clothes on the edge of the bath so that they can dry.”</p><p>“It’s fine… um… the landlord texted,” you informed him as he sat on the armchair across you. Looking at him, you felt your breath hitch. How could he just saunter around and make even your drab hoodie and old pyjama bottoms look like they were high fashion looks from the glossy pages of Vogue? It was so unfair.</p><p>“What did he say?” he asked you, settling into his seat.</p><p>“He said that the electricity line supplying our building fell over because of the strong wind, so we won’t have power for a while.” </p><p>A long silence followed after you spoke. But God, you wanted to talk to him so badly! You were willing to talk about anything, <em> anything</em>, just as long as it was a conversation with him. And it didn’t help that you had questions. So. Many. Questions. Like why was he sopping wet? Where was he before this? Why didn’t he stay in his flat? And out of all of the flats in the building, why yours? You decided you were going to talk, finally, just to fill the silence and satisfy your curiosity. But before you could even open your mouth, he spoke up.</p><p>“Can I… borrow your mobile?” he asked. You nodded, opening your Photos app to quickly hide the album of pictures and stills from photoshoots and films of his that you had amassed over the years. Gingerly, you handed it to him, and he stood up, readying himself to take the call he was about to make. You heard him dial a number before speaking up. A soft yet cheerful “Hi, Daisy!” broke the silence before he proceeded further into the darkness of your hallway, walking out of hearing distance.  </p><p>Daisy? Could it be… Daisy Ridley? You remembered the chemistry you intently watched just before he arrived, and it led you to a conclusion. So he <em> did </em> have another. And the lucky girl just so happened to be Daisy Ridley. ‘<em>Lord </em> ,’ you thought to yourself, ‘<em>how could I even compete with </em> her?’</p><p>George emerged from the darkness, poking his head past the wall as he looked at you, phone still at his ear. “Can I give the number of your flat?” he asked.</p><p>You nodded wordlessly before watching him return to the deeper end of the hall. You never really did know the answer to that question you asked yourself before George interrupted your train of thought. Right there and then, you weren’t sure if you ever would. But one thing that was sure for you was what you were going through as you just sat there, anticipating his return: what an experience it was, to have your whole world crumble apart as you stayed with the one person who held it all together. </p><p>He walked back into your living room and settled back down on the armchair again.</p><p>“Voicemail,” he said as he returned your mobile to you. “But thank you though, I left a message.” </p><p>You nodded again. How many times were you going to nod that night? You allowed yourself to look at him again, if only for a while. You were so jealous of the firelight; you wished you could kiss him the way the amber coloured light kissed his hair, and his cheekbones, and his hands...</p><p>“Um…,” you eventually spoke up, stopping yourself from going further with that movie in your mind. Trying to forget that evocative image of George in the candlelight, you struggled to find the right words to say. “So… are you alright?”</p><p>“I’m fine,” he replied, and for a moment his tone made you believe that he was grateful for your concern. “It’s just… I was supposed to go to the supermarket to buy some things I was running out of. I didn’t bring an umbrella with me, and the rain started to fall before I even got there. So I rushed back to the flat as quickly as I could. Someone bumped me pretty hardly as I walked back though, and I was holding onto my mobile and my keys in my hand."</p><p>You covered your hand with your mouth as your mind led you to a possible conclusion. He smiled when he saw your reaction, and continued his story. “So… my keys and my mobile slipped out of my hands… and into the street drain.” </p><p>Your hand slipped away from your lips, your mouth open in shock at the story he told you. He laughed when he saw your face, and he smiled again. “It’s fine. I’m alright now,  and it’s all thanks to you.”</p><p>You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and you hoped that the flickering shadows were helpful at hiding the blush that began to creep through your face. For a moment, you revelled in that moment of attention, before you were stilled by the silence that hung thick between the two of you. </p><p>The vicarious memory of your first meeting came back to haunt you, and it dawned on you that there was something you can do to make amends. At that moment, you knew you had to apologise, even if all the facts led you to conclude that he already had someone else.</p><p>“George,” you piped up, and his eyes met yours again. “George... I’m so sorry for the... incident. I mean, when we first met.”</p><p>His eyebrows shot up at your apology, before his lips curved up into a smile. “Darling, don’t you know what you did?” he asked with a chuckle. </p><p>“My friend… she said I made a pass at you?” you replied, sounding more like you were asking a question than answering one. It was obvious who was sober and who wasn’t on that night; he remembered what happened and you clearly didn’t.</p><p>“You kissed me on the cheek, actually, it was quite sweet,” he said, his eyes seemingly distant as he recalled that night. “You introduced yourself to me that night. And then you hugged me and said that I was the brightest shade of sun you had ever seen, and I had eyes that put the sea to shame.”</p><p>Your mouth opened as you began to get a clearer image of what happened that night. <em> So that was what happened? </em>And there you were all that time, thinking that you had committed some heinous kind of assault.</p><p>“I thought I violated you…,” you eventually said, part of you still not believing what you just heard.</p><p>“To be honest I’d let you if you did,” he told you, wagging his eyebrows at you as he did so.</p><p>Your eyebrows raised themselves in shock. This night was beginning to become more surreal as it passed, and you wondered if you could make it to the end of it.</p><p>“So… do you still think I’m cute?” he asked, one eyebrow cocking up as his lips turned up to form a smug smile.</p><p>“Oh God, George, how could you even ask that?” you asked, unable to believe the question you just heard. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”</p><p>“A girlfriend?” he asked, as if this information was new to him as well.</p><p>“Daisy!” You heard the tone of your voice rise, but you just couldn’t stop yourself then. “Daisy-the-girl-you-just-called-who-somehow-also-has-keys-to-your-flat Daisy!”</p><p>“Daisy’s my sister!”</p><p>“Wait, what? That wasn’t Daisy Ridley?” you asked. </p><p>“No!” </p><p>“So wait, you’re not dating Daisy Ridley?” you asked once more, just to be sure. </p><p>“Why would I date Daisy Ridley?” It was obvious that you managed to get him confused as well. “I mean, she's a wonderful person but—“</p><p>“I don’t know!” you admitted, realising that your tone sounding somewhat crazed as you listened to yourself. You took a deep breath to ground yourself first before speaking again. “I… I just kind of recently reached the conclusion that you have somebody else,” you admitted as a pink hue began to crawl up your cheeks. He looked at you with an unreadable expression, and you started to feel sheepish.</p><p>At that moment, as the conversation you just had with George settled in your mind, you felt hope swell up from within again. Hope —that dangerous, pesky, persuasive thing that fuelled all your dreams of George and the love that would take on the shape of your lives together— ran back to the front line of your consciousness, ready to take up arms against reality with so much abandon.</p><p>“Well, you’re not wrong,” he smiled, picking up from what you had just said. “There <em> is </em> someone I really like…”</p><p>As his last sentence drifted off, you felt like the floorboards were about to open up and swallow you whole. A chill ran down your spine as you just stared at him; George looked back at you and he looked <em> through </em> you. You felt so vulnerable in front of him; never in your life had you ever felt that way in front of another person. You were never afraid of him, never, and yet… you also knew that you were.</p><p>With your eyes still anchored on his, you knew you couldn’t stop your thoughts from racing until you reached the words that would stop you from turning and running away from it all. You wanted to stop yourself from defecting from the fight and from going back to coasting again.</p><p>He blinked once, and then a few more times, his eyelids veiling those ocean eyes for a fleeting moment, only to open them again. Was he waiting for you to say something?</p><p>Suddenly, as the thunder rumbled on outside, you found the words; you heard them before, forever ago, and those same words came back to you, coming home after years of hardening your heart to the risk that comes with trying to love other people.</p><p>‘<em>There is nothing more whole than a broken heart.’ </em></p><p>You wanted to feel everything joining underneath once more. You wanted to feel what it was like to glow from within again, of self-blessing. You wanted to open up again, and share that glow with the person you loved the most. And the only way to open up again and let the light through… was to let yourself break a little more. </p><p>“Who?” you asked, a soft smile forming on your lips as you steeled yourself for what he was about to say. You could feel your lungs constrict and your eyes sting with tears that threatened to let themselves loose, but you did your best to hold them back.</p><p>“You, obviously,” he says. George smiles, and closes the gap between you with just one fluid motion. Before you knew what was happening, he was kneeling before you, cupping your face in his hands as he brought you closer to kiss him.</p><p>The sensation of those soft lips pressing against yours was beyond heaven. As his mouth moved against yours, you felt every nerve in your body stand to attention, your blood singing in your veins as your fingers tangled in his hair. You always told yourself that if you had kissed George while you had your wits about you, you’d be able to die happy. But as the dream turned into something real, you wanted to take that thought back. You wanted to live forever in that moment, simply revelling in George’s sweet yet passionate kiss.</p><p>All good things have to end, however, and you both pulled away to breathe. You found yourself laughing, unable to believe your luck. George rose from the floor now to sit next to you, amused by your laughter. </p><p>“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he told you.</p><p>“I think I do, George,” you said in between your giggling.</p><p>Suddenly, a ringtone cut through the sound of your laughter. You were still trying to come down from the rush that came with your dreams coming true when you recognised that it was your mobile ringing, the caller ID displaying a number you didn’t know.</p><p>“Oh, it’s Daisy,” he said as he looked at the screen. He gives you a playful glare to temper your incredulity. “My <em> sister </em>Daisy.” </p><p>You smiled wide, and he shifted to sit closer to you on the couch. He picked up the mobile and answered the call, his hand finding yours as he did. Listening to his end of the conversation, you found yourself beaming at his “mmhm”s and “I understand”s. He ended the call, and you looked at him expectantly.</p><p>“Well?” you asked, eager to know.</p><p>“Why are you grinning like that?” he asked, breaking into a smile as well.</p><p>“I don’t know!” you confessed. “I just really like you!”</p><p>“Well,” he said, and he leant in, his eyes locking with yours again and freezing you in place. “She has the spare keys to my flat, and said she won’t be able to make it out anytime soon, given the weather.”</p><p>“Ah…,” you replied, slightly gaining a little bit more context.</p><p>“So,” he continued, his lips hovering above your ear. “Can I stay?”</p><p>You leant back slightly to cup his face in your hands and kiss him again, all your worries and fears forgotten. George was finally beginning to fit into the pieces of your life. Your link was more than a separation now; it was a full-fledged bond that was starting to grow roots, and you knew it was only going to get stronger as time went on.</p><p>Of course he can stay.</p>
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